1.15.10
There are moments when I begin to strongly dislike Asia. Just now, our bus stopped at a roadside café. The tourist busses always stop at these places to let the tourists use the bathroom, and lure them into buying expensive coffee, snacks, and souvenirs. When I walked down the dirt road to the waterfront behind the store, a woman in platform shoes tried to sell me the trinkets she carried on a tray. She was very loud.
“Where you from?” She said.
I told her, and she threw her head back and laughed.
“Oh my God,” she said. “Americans are not lucky. I don’t like Americans. They always angry.”
I didn’t look at her. “I’m sorry,” I said.
“Actually I have American boyfriend.”
I wondered if she was drunk. “You have an American boyfriend?”
“Yeah, but I think I don’t want him.”
“Oh.” I looked at the ground and kept walking. She decided she would get nothing from me, I guess. She went across the street to a group of Dutch tourists and began to cry and say she could sell nothing.
The people in the tourist areas of Vietnam, and later in Cambodia, were more determined to sell to me than many of the street vendors I’ve encountered in China. In Vietnam especially, there were times when I was almost made lonely by the feeling that no one spoke to me unless he or she had some ulterior motive of getting something from me. In Cambodia, I talked with a taxi driver outside a ruin. I was waiting for my friends, and he was waiting for his passengers; he was lying in a hammock in the shade. I assumed he’d have no reason to sell to me – he had customers already, and I had clearly gotten transportation to the ruins. I thought maybe we could have normal conversation. He asked where I was from. Then he asked what I would do the next day. I told him it was my last day in Siem Reap – there could be no selling now, I thought. I wouldn’t be needing a driver the next day. I tried to ask him about his family. While I talked I sat on the bike I’d rented to ride out to the ruin.
“Why you ride bike?” He said.
I knew why he was asking. “It’s more fun, it’s good exercise, and… it’s cheaper.”
He laughed. “You can’t take your money when you die.”
I felt angry at the assumption, at the accusation, that I was stingy. “The Americans you meet here," I said, "they don’t want to spend money do they?”
He nodded.
I had to prove to him now that I had a good reason for not spending money. “Well, I don’t have a lot of money.”
He smiled lazily. I knew he believed me no more than I believed he didn’t want money from me.
“You should take a car,” he said. “Bikes take too long.”
“I’ve been on a long trip,” I said. “I don’t have much money left.”
“You have money in a bank account?”
“Yes, but not very much.” But I sensed that having money in a bank account was enough to prove to him that I was rich. He kept trying to tell me to hire a driver instead of taking the bikes. Oddly enough, he invited me to come to dinner at his house, too, but he’d dogged me about the bikes so much I didn’t feel I could trust him. Up to that point, I’d been offered nothing by a Cambodian that was free. I’d talked to him long enough to think that he wouldn’t be an exception. Maybe I was wrong. His passengers came eventually, and he rolled up his hammock and went to his car. My friends and I got back on our bikes to ride to the next ruin down the road.
1.17.10
I hit hurdles today. I just now read a five-day-old e-mail from a Vietnamese contact of Benny’s, telling me that the government will not let foreigners go to the Cheo Reo village, the home of Lap’s sisters. The contact said we can try to meet the sisters in a town outside the village. Even worse – she told me that the translator I’d asked for would not be able to come with me. I tried to call the contact. All this time I’d been thinking she was just a friend of Benny’s, someone who wanted to help us. When I finally got through to her, I realized I had misunderstood the situation. She was a travel agent, ready to book us a hotel, sell us a tour.
We were on our last day in Hoi An at this point, and had that morning decided we would leave for Pleiku the next day, thinking we would meet a driver and translator there and go together to the village to see Lap’s sisters. Now, we found we could not go to the village, and that we didn’t have a translator. Neither did we have any information in our guidebook about Pleiku or the Central Highlands. As I sat at the computer reading the five-day-old e-mail, it was already approaching evening. I could e-mail another contact of Benny’s, someone who could be our translator, but who knows how soon he would respond. Our travel group had to decide: either wait in Hoi An until I secured a new translator, or go straight to Pleiku in the morning and hope that things would work out there.
The other contact Benny had given us was Mr. Ng – I’d e-mailed him once before and been frightened by his response, and by Benny’s warning that Mr. Ng would try to get an extra cut from any meals we ate while going around with him. Here’s a sample of one e-mail I’d received from Ng:
Tue, 5thJan 2010
hello ANNE and your friends
thanks for reply me soon. i am understanding all whats you wrote in this email .
yes, you can take a bus from HUE to PLEIKU . pleasecall or email me whenever you arrive in PLEIKU bus station , i will pick you up from there to the hotels , would you like i help you to booking the rooms … about a van , a driver , a guide ? ! don't mind nothing ! i will help you like i have ever did with BENNY before [ i have read your email , that you sent to BENNY ] .
you asked me that; you need for a permit ! no , you not necessary to use it , don't worry nothing
about ! not problem nothing for travel in the highlands [ i knew what i do by myself for help you ]...
...i will provide more information for you when we meet each other . so, please tell me where would you like to traveling and how many days you can stay in the highlands ?!
please give me your plans in advance so that i can charge for you
long journey plese show me and we can continue ........wherever........
ANNE- remember: give me your plans in exactly .plese reply soon. sincerely.
The exclamation marks and broken English told me I shoudn't hire this man. But now we needed a translator, and he seemed to know where the sisters were, and how to get to them. He lived in Pleiku. I e-mailed him again, asking for his price, and my companions and I took a bus to Pleiku the next morning. I hoped that by the time I arrived in the city I would have a reply.
1.18.10
We are in a cramped van headed for Pleiku. The city is not mentioned in Joe’s guidebook. We have no maps and little information, only a few numbers and addresses of some places we might stay.
The Joes have decided they will not try to see the sisters, so if I do get a translator, only Rachel and I will go. If I am to go, I really must hear from Mr. Ng today, or find a translator at some tour agency in Pleiku. I need to be able to visit the sisters tomorrow or the day after. I don’t think my companions will be willing to stay in Pleiku any longer than that. I’m praying that I’ll find an e-mail and a fair price from Mr. Ng on the computer tonight. I think the town where I may meet the sisters, Phu Bon, is about an hour from Pleiku.
Our van slowed moments ago to pick up more passengers. There is one empty seat now. The van slowed again a little later and passengers leaned out the open door to spit onto the road. I was happy that they weren’t spitting inside the van, but then the man in front of Rachel leaned over and dropped a wad somewhere by his feet.
There is a box under my seat, so I don’t have much space. Vietnamese talk radio blares. Nine hours to go. We will arrive in the city after dark, probably late.
...I was wrong – there were two empty seats left, one was a folded metal chair in the aisle. The van just stopped again, and now there are no empty seats. The new passengers brought a big yellow sandbag, and the driver placed it under the seat in front me; my feet are wedged between the box and bag now.
...We’ve been driving on for four or five hours. We just picked up another person – I didn’t think there were any seats left, and maybe there weren’t. He was holding a puppy in his arms when he climbed in. Now there are twenty people in our van, the puppy, and two ducks we’ve discovered are packed behind our seat in the very back. The ducks have been quacking for the last twenty minutes at least. We’ve had two bathroom breaks – just pulled to a stop on the side of the road each time. I sat still for the first one, to observe. The men got out first. One barely took two steps from the van before he unzipped his pants. The women hung back for awhile, then got out all together and walked to some bushes a little further away.
At the second stop I would’ve gone, but there were no bushes. The men went, and then one woman climbed out of the van. I watched her carefully to see where she’d go. She walked a good distance away, but then dropped into the grass right by the road, barely covered. Rachel and I looked at each other, and Rachel said, “That’s not gonna happen.” Neither of us have gone since we left the bus station. I’m holding out for big, leafy bushes.
...Twenty-one people in the van now. I can’t make out from back here what everyone is sitting on…and not everyone is sitting. A bus employee is standing on some unseen ground. I can see his head popping up as if from a box of crayons – a little higher than all the rest.We got to Pleiku at nine forty-five and booked the first hotel we entered. I found when I got up the next morning that Gia Lai Tours, the only Central Highlands tour company we’d seen mentioned in a guidebook, was across the street. I was anxious that morning. A woman at the tour company spoke good English. She said I could hire a translator for thirty dollars, but thought the only way I could see the Siu sisters is if I asked them to come to Pleiku. I left to find an internet café. I wanted to see if Mr. Ng had written me.
We didn’t find an internet café until late morning. Mr. Ng had written: he offered a van, driver, and translator for ninety U.S. dollars. Too much for me.
I went back to the tourist company and this time had quite a different experience. The lights were off, and one man sat at a table inside. He was dark-skinned. He reminded me of Lap, so I thought he might be Jarai. I found out later that he was. I didn’t think he would speak English, but when I told him I had spoken with a lady there that morning, he said perfectly, “What was the name of the woman? Everyone was still out to lunch. Rachel and the Joes were with me now. We sat down at the table, and I started to explain to the man what I wanted. Workers began to trickle in, still wearing their facemasks and motorbike gloves. Just as I began to explain, a woman spoke to him in Vietnamese. She didn’t speak English, but she had been there when I first asked for help that morning. She was explaining for me. I nudged Lap’s pictures closer to the man, and he began to look at them. A half-hour or more of conversation followed, a half-hour in which I felt questioned and tested. He was Jarai himself, which I hoped would cause him to sympathize with me. I showed him the pictures and the dictionary, I told him Lap hadn’t seen his sisters in fourteen years. I asked him if I could hire a translator from the travel agency, and go to Phu Bon by public bus.
He first asked why I could not simply ask the sisters to come to Pleiku. I struggled to give him a direct answer. Saying that I didn’t want to be rude to the sisters wouldn’t convince him, I knew. I tried to tell him that I didn’t think it would be right to ask them to come two hours by bus the very next day.
“They don’t know me,” I said. “I don’t want to be rude – I think it would be easier for me to go to them.”
But he repeatedly suggested that I ask them to come to Pleiku. He said that I could pay their bus fares.
Maybe that would work, I thought. But certainly it wasn’t ideal. Up to this point, I hadn’t personally contacted them at all, though Lap said they were expecting me. They would have no warning.
“When in Rome, do as the Romans do,” said the man. “So, in Vietnam, do as the Vietnamese do.”
“I don’t understand,” I said.
“We have laws. I think it would be better for you to ask them to come to Pleiku.”
“Is there a public bus I can take to Phu Bon?”
“If I authorize my translator to go with you there, and you go into the village, who has the problem? I have the problem.”
I had thought this was why he didn’t want me to go there – he was afraid I’d try to do something underhanded.
“But I won’t go to the village,” I said. “I will stay in the town. I just want to see Lap’s sisters.”
He was talking with just three of us now, Joe M, Rachel, and I. He asked us to move to a small table, where he served us tea. He began to ask us simple questions, as if he’d entirely forgotten my request for a translator. Where were we from? What were our jobs? Where in Vietnam would we go next? He gave us bus information to Dalat, and a small map of Pleiku. He answered our questions about the city and joked with us.
I wanted an answer from him. I was beginning to see that I may not be able to go to Phu Bon. Fine. I was willing to let him call the sisters and arrange for them to go to Pleiku. I tried to express that. But still he evaded giving me a clear answer. He said that the government had laws concerning his tourist agency, that he had a tour program he was to abide by. He did not know if he could lend a translator for something so personal.
He kept taking calls on his cell phone, and I wondered if he was trying to get some sort of permission. Sometimes he would be off the phone, and still there was a lull in the conversation. Then he’d ask more personal questions or questions about our trip. Sometimes he’d return to the issue at hand, as if he’d suddenly thought of a new question. How did I know Lap? What was my purpose in seeing the sisters? Finally he said, “I’m trying to think of what I should do, whether or not I can help you.”
I could see that he was. During all his slow questioning and small talk, I knew he was mulling over the situation, and sizing me up.
I never could get an answer from him. He took H’Blu’s number, and mine, and told me he’d call me or come to my hotel. At first he didn’t even want my phone number…said it’d be easier to discuss with me in person. I should have seen then that he wasn’t going to do anything about my request, but I was hopeful. I made sure he would tell the sisters that I’d pay their bus fare, and as I left I asked him when I could expect to hear back from him. I think he said that he’d call them, and then consider it, and after that talk to me. He patted my back and said, “Please understand. As much as I can, I will help you.”
I went back to the hotel. Mr. Ng wanted an answer to his ninety-dollar offer. He wanted to come to the hotel and work out a deal with me in person. But I wanted to hear from the Jarai man at Gia Lai Tours before I saw Mr. Ng. I thought maybe the Jarai man was more trustworthy. I waited at my hotel for the next hour and a half, but he never came or called. I told myself I’d wait until four o’clock. At one minute after, I called Mr. Ng. I told him I would meet with him. I didn’t even have to tell him which hotel I was staying in – somehow he already knew.
He puttered up thirty minutes later on his motorbike, and when he took his helmet off I was surprised to see so many grays. He wore aviator sunglasses. We sat down in the lobby, and I asked him how he knew which hotel to come to. He slapped my shoulder, and said, “Small town!” His eyes got wide and he laughed – he gave that manner of response to almost all my questions. He liked dramatic facial expressions, shrill tones, and laughter. He often said to me, “You don’t mind nothing!” or “It’s easy,” and he’d spread his arms out every time as if he were giving a sermon.
He wouldn’t go lower than eighty. At one point in our conversation, I was ready to give up.
“Mr Ng, I don’t think I can pay you more than sixty dollars.”
But he wasn’t coming down. I found hope when he started giving me alternatives. He could bring the sisters to Pleiku, he said, and then I’d pay him to translate. Not quite what I wanted, but something.
He knew he was my best option – who else knew where the village was, and what the Siu sisters looked like? And even though his English was difficult to understand, it was much better than what I would likely find around town. He kept telling me how easy it would be for him to take me. He knew the sisters. He had taken Benny to the sisters.
“If only one person come, I can even take you to the village,” he said. “I know that village – no police there.”
“You could take me inside?” I said.
“For sure! If one person, I take on my motorbike into the village. No police. It’s not legal…” He shrugged his shoulders and laughed.
“You could take me to Phu Bon on your motorbike?” I said.
“If just you, yes.”
“How much?”
The laughing stopped, the smile disappeared. He became motionless and stared out to the street. He did that sometimes when I asked him a question, or if he needed to think of the right words to use. Finally he said, “If only you, on my motorbike…thirty dollars.”
It was the lowest price I’d heard for anything. But should I go alone? He’d already told me the town was two hours away, not one hour like I’d thought.
“What if my friend comes?”
“It’s easy! I get my son to drive another motorbike. You pay sixty dollars for two motorbike.” He thought again. “If you take two motorbike, I charge you fifty-five.”
I told him I’d think it over, but I already knew what I would do. Even if I paid sixty dollars for one of the guys to go with me, I’d be paying less than for a van and driver. I ran it by my companions later and we settled on it – I’d go with Mr. Ng and Joe M would come with me. I’ve no doubt I would have been fine by myself. I wasn’t afraid of going alone, but some part of my mind thought it was smarter to take Joe with me. I knew that once my mom heard the story she’d be happy to know that I hadn’t gone alone.
Mr. Ng and not his son, but his nephew, came to the hotel the next morning and drove me and Joe the two hours to Phu Bon.
